


Wargames

by surfaces



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Cake, Fluff, Identity Porn, Kylux - Freeform, M/M, Mmm Cake, Phasma is everyone's long-suffering big sister, SO MUCH FLUFF, Soft Kylux, Some Crack, gays in space, intergalactic idiots, intergalactic sarcasm, intergalactic space arseholes, multiple POVs, probably angst too, sarcastic assholes, sassy droids, sticky notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-09-28 06:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10077854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surfaces/pseuds/surfaces
Summary: Life isn't easy on board The Finalizer, but thanks to a game of hangman with a stranger, cheesy romance novels, a battered note pad and a sassy droid obsessed with baking, Kylo thinks he'll get by just fine.NEW CHAPTERS UPLOADED EVERY WEDNESDAY!!





	1. Chapter 1

He strides down the long corridors with purpose. Carries himself with purpose, drawing himself to his full height and shooting withering looks to anyone who dares glances at him that he _knows_ they can sense through his mask. His robes billow with rolls and snaps, and his feet thud on hard tiles as he reaches the meeting room. The troopers on guard share glances through their helmets and stand to attention, punching the panel to let him inside.

"Sir." The taller of the two says, uncertainty in his voice. He says nothing as the heavy steel doors roll open, ignoring the troopers and entering the meeting room with a flourish. Phasma is stood at the top of the room, a large display showing various plans and marks on maps that chart nearby planets. Every eye in the room turns to him while he lowers himself to a seat at the head of the long glass table. And so they should.

"Kylo Ren," Phasma tones, unimpressed. "Thank you for joining us." He nods in return, waiting for everyone else to face her again and carry on the meeting. A soft snort to his left grabs his attention.

"Late. As per usual." A silky smooth voice mutters: Hux. He hates that smug prick with a passion. Kylo is not late; he is exactly where he means to be, _when_ he means to be. He feels his irritation bristling beneath his skin as Hux drags his clear eyes up and down his robed figure, a sneer across his lips. He refuses to let Hux see he's bothering him though, so he ignores him and focuses on Phasma. Yet another discussion on rebel reports – or rather, Phasma's version of a discussion, which begins as a report and turns into a full blown rant about weeding the rebel faction out and destroying them. It's not that Kylo disagrees, it's that he'd rather take action and _do something_ instead of sitting around bitching about it. It's tiresome and takes up precious time. Not that he has much else to do with his time, but it's precious time all the same. After Hux's little display earlier, he's been growing more and more angry, annoyance evolving into disgust and ire for the red-headed General. How dare he? How fucking dare he? He's hyper aware of the man to his left; every shift in his seat and cock of his head worsening his mood. Is he deliberately trying to piss him off by fidgeting like a child? Kylo feels like it.

Finally, Phasma runs out of steam and asks his opinion. Like every meeting they'd held for the past three weeks, Kylo doesn't move or speak until he has everyones focus. Then he sits himself up straighter, moving his head slowly to face around the table; he knows the unnerving effect it has, and he milks it for all its worth before he speaks.

"You know how I feel about the Rebel scum. Enough talk. More action. Something has to be done."

Another soft snort, an exact mimic of earlier. He snaps his focus to Hux, whose bored expression notches his temper up a level.

"You have a better idea?" Kylo snaps. Hux shrugs lightly, folding his arms easily across his lean chest.

"We need to plan more. You can't just barge in and take them out – they're patient. We need to be even more patient." Hux says, almost sounding bored.

"You're not serious, surely? We have done nothing but plan for months. We have all the information we're going to get -" Kylo starts, but Hux rolls his eyes and interrupts.

"Plan to plan to plan. We need better contingencies in place. We need to be sure we know exactly where they're going to be and when they're going to arrive so as to intercept. We need to discuss this more." Hux says admonishingly, waving a hand lazily in a circle to punctuate it. Kylo slams his hands on the desk with a bang and shoots to his feet, towering over Hux.

"The time for discussing is over!" Kylo snarls. Hux has the audacity to glare at him with judgement in his eyes. "We have to *act* before they do. I won't be insubordinated, not by the likes of you -"

"There's nothing to insubordinate when your self-given title isn't even real," Hux drawls, a mean smirk curling his lips. "Phasma is right, and I'm sure the rest of us agree. We need to wait, instead of jumping into something we're not prepared for." Hux gestures around the table, where the rest of the officials are averting their eyes and shifting uneasily in their chairs; even Phasma stands stock still, saying nothing.

"Do you all agree with him then?" Kylo demands, his voice dangerously low. The table remains silent. He can see Hux folding his arms again from the corner of his eye. That damn self-satisfied grin had only grown like a Cheshire Cat's. Insufferable twat.

 Kylo stands up straight and jabs a finger on the glass table.

"Fine." He growls. "Sit around and talk and bicker over your ridiculous plans. When you're done _discussing_ and decide to actually _move forward_ with some real plans to take care of these bastards, find me. Until then I'm not to be disturbed." Kylo sweeps from the room in a flow of black robes, almost knocking one of the troopers outside the door on his ass.

 

He thunders down the corridors, veering left and right like a man on a mission. He tries to work through his blackening mood in his mind but only serves to make it worse. Fucking Hux. Fucking board members. Fucking red tape and contingency plans and, most of all, _fucking Rebel scum_. Kylo was sick and tired of the rhetoric, the games they played, of acting like he was happy sitting behind a desk and talking instead of getting off their asses and actually doing something about it. The threat of the Rebels had been steadily growing since they intercepted communications from an old ship months ago, and he'd channelled his unease into bloodlust. He knew who would be with them, and he wanted them either gone or in his custody where he could watch their every move.

_No. Don't think about them. Don't think about that now. Focus on..._

_On what?_

Kylo slows his steps as the thought hit him. He lets it roll around his mind, misty tendrils of doubt creeping around and latching on. He really does have nothing to do now. Sure, there was the running of the ship...that was important, right? And he keeps the troopers in order. He doesn’t concern himself with lowly things like overseeing their training or lifting morale. No, he scares them into shape. Makes sure they know their place, which is below him. He decides where they go, when they go, and the _why_ they went be damned. If he willed it, it was so. Having such a powerful figurehead as a grandfather has its perks, but recently he's been starting to doubt himself, his purpose. 

He shakes the thoughts from his head: Kylo Ren doesn't have thoughts like this. Kylo Ren does not question himself, no one does. Kylo Ren... does not want to finish this train of thought either. He scoffs at himself and realises he's in a part of the ship he's never visited before. It has the same gleaming metal walls and smooth tiled floors as the rest of this floor, but it's quieter. It's so far away from the comms and control rooms that he's never had any reason to come this way. Yet here he is. The noises of the ship are louder here. A low thrumming that he can feel through the soles of his boots beneath his feet. A distant _whumph whumph whumph_ of propulsors many floors down. Various creaks and thunks as the vacuum of space outside cloaks an unfathomable amount of pressure all around him. It's almost soothing.

Kylo takes a deep breath, feeling the tension in his shoulders sink downwards through his spine. A glint catches his eye as he turns to go back the way he came: one of the rolling doors is still open, the console broken and flashing a dark red; jammed. Of course no one came here, so why would anyone be here to fix it? He enters the room and sees it's a rec room, exactly like fifty others across the whole vessel. The resources team insisted on them when the ship was being built: as they said, "everyone needs somewhere to unwind". He snorts to himself at the very idea, he doesn't think he's ever felt 'unwound'. Not really. He's always felt tightly coiled, ready to spring and snap and explode. So as he enters the room, almost prowling, he doesn't expect much. A little part of him hopes he would feel a rush of tranquillity and peace and whatever else this room is meant to inspire....but it doesn't. It's just a room, painted soft green with huge cushy sofas, books filed neatly into a tall book case, a little kitchen off to one side, and a large glass table with little chips and scratches across the surface. He walks over to study it: rings from glasses where liquid has spilled over, an initial carved into the corner, chipped and burred corners. Huh. Not everything on the ship is so clinical and perfect then, he thinks; it's slightly comforting in a way he didn't expect.

A droid ambles into the room, almost making him jump. But of course, he doesn't jump, definitely did not jerk nearly a foot in the air with surprise. Kylo Ren doesn't get startled. The droid is a dull grey, with a boxy chest and narrow head. It stands to attention and he eyes it suspiciously.

"Welcome Ren. May I be of service?" It asks in an almost nasal buzz. He cocks an eyebrow beneath his mask, coming to stand in front of the little kitchen.

"How?" Kylo asks simply.

"This is rec room #7. Rec rooms are designed to boost morale, to relax employees, to be a place of calm and reflection. I am A5-D0, I can provide music, or cook for you, or -"

"I get it." Kylo mutters. His earlier irritation threatens to flair again, and he huffs a sigh as though he's trying to blow it out of him. "Just...play some music I guess. Don't bother me."

"Yes sir," A5-D0 buzzes before it rolls to the corner of the room between the book case and the wall. It squats down, folding its lower limbs within its chest, and a pleasant, sweet tune starts to flow from it. Kylo's surprised to find he quite likes the little melody, and he looks around him again, figuring out what to do. If he's going to force himself to relax, he needs something to distract him from the increasingly intrusive thoughts he’s been having as of late. He sits on the closest chair to him at the old glass table, feeling awkward and unsure of himself. How does one relax when they haven't allowed themselves to since...well, forever?

He drums his gloved fingers on the table top and sighs. He pulls off his mask, his face hot beneath it and rubs his jaw. The air in the room is clean and fresh, a nice change from the stuffiness of inside the helmet. Kylo casts another look around him and sinks into the chair slightly before the droid speaks up and makes him jump again.

"Sir, would you like any refreshments? There are a variety available." It buzzes from the corner over the soft music. He eyes it carefully before inclining his head. It stands up again and rolls into the kitchen area, the music following it. As it bustles behind him he rubs his fingers over the chipped desk, the burrs and scratches catching on his gloves. The droid brings over a tray with fruit and a tall glass of yellow coloured juice before returning to the corner and sinking down again. Kylo sips the juice warily, realising with surprise that he likes the sweet-sickly taste of whatever it is, and drains the glass. He picks up a flat bottomed inky blue fruit, but it slips from his fingers and rolls across the desk. He snatches it back and notices a faded blue line on the desk beneath it. It's shaped like an upside down, elongated "L", and he allows a small sign of amusement at what it reminds him of: a hangman's gallows. It brings back memories of being young, of drawing them in the dust outside with other children, each trying to think up a word more difficult than the kid before them, screeching with victory when no one guessed it and the hangman was drawn complete. He was good at that game. Maybe not some of the more physical games, but games with words and letters and numbers. Strategies. It served him well later in life, that's for sure.

He thinks for a second before taking a bite of the dark fruit, saccharine purple juice sluicing between his lips. Kylo looks at the glass pot in the centre of the table; it holds a number of different pens and markers, and before he can talk himself out of it he snatches up a rub-away marker and completes the hangman's gallows drawn on the table. He taps the end of the pen against the glass while he thinks up a word, sinking his teeth every so often into the dark fruit in his hand and chewing thoughtfully. It comes to him then, and he scores eight neat dashes beneath the gallows. He smirks to himself, finishing off the fruit and checking the time. It's late; he has more meetings tomorrow -

No. No he doesn't. Not after that little display earlier. Now the tension and anger has left him he feels drained and tired. Kylo decides he needs rest, in his own quarters, in his own bed. Not in an unfamiliar place in a part of the ship he never visits. He doesn't even want to admit to himself the rec room had calmed him. He huffs a resigned grunt, and pulls himself up.

"Are you leaving, sir?" The droid buzzes. Kylo pulls his mask on, pausing; he makes a point not to talk to droids unless he has a direct use for them. Much like how he deals with people, actually. But the music _had_ relaxed him, and the fruit _was_ delicious...

"Yes." He mutters, feeling a little silly for talking to a robot and admitting it helped.

"Glad to be of service, sir." The droid said, and as Kylo leaves the room and the music fades, he could have swore it sounded amused.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Hux's turn to need a break.

Hux raises his eyebrow questioningly. The trooper in front of him has been haltingly briefing him on a recent scout mission, and he’s repeated himself three times already. Stuttering, jerking his arms trying to feign casual movements, his helmet swivelling around as his head darts from Phasma to Hux. The scout had gone awry; they had found evidence of Rebel camps, but they were long gone by the time the troopers had turned up. So while they were there they’d decided to investigate the forest and check for any signs of activity. It ended up in a small firefight with two of their own injured and no hostages to bring back to the ship.

Hux tilts his head to his shoulder and lets out a long, exaggerated sigh. The trooper shuts up instantly and stiffens; he knows he’s pissed off his commander.

“So what you mean to tell me, in whatever round about way you’re spitting out, is that you failed. Again.” Hux drawls. The trooper starts to wring his hands as best he can through the thick gloves of his uniform.

“Yes – no, well, we had them cornered sir – but there were more than we accounted for – they caught us by surprise and there was nothing we could do –“

“Except your job.” Hux says in a flat voice. Phasma shifts beside him; he knows she’s smirking beneath her helmet. “You could have done your job. The only job you had, which was to find the Rebels that _your team_ brought back intel on. Do you mean to tell me that your information was incorrect, was that the reason for your failings?”

The trooper bows his head. “Yes, sir.”

“And as a result of your failings, we have no Rebels, no fresh intel, a trail on them that is probably cold, and two men down. Am I correct?” Hux carries on, sinking into the large chair in the command centre.

“…Yes sir.” The trooper says quietly.

“Well, that won’t do at all, will it?” Hux sighs, looking towards Phasma. The room is silent for a few moments before the trooper shifts his stance and looks up.

“Well, we did bring back something sir. A hard drive. We blew one of their droids and it was left in the wreck. It’s in pieces, but I believe the details are extractable.” The trooper says. Phasma leans forward suddenly.

“A pile of plastic chips is not _something_ , FK-1098.” She jabs a finger accusingly towards him. “It’s a pathetic excuse for –“

“Has it been checked?” Hux interrupts her. He ignores her hard gaze on him and keeps his face blank, holding the troopers focus. He starts to stutter again and Hux shakes his head and repeats himself, “I _said_ , has it been checked?”

“N-not yet sir, we haven’t had the opportunity –“

“Well take it then. Go to the labs, see if they can’t find something worth our time.” Hux rises to his feet, Phasma following slowly after. “Report back by tomorrow. I hope for your sake it’s functional.”

“Thank you sir!” The trooper breathes, his shoulders sagging with relief. “Thank you.” Phasma looks between them both and snorts with disgust before storming out of the small comms room.

The trooper and Hux stand together in awkward silence before the trooper clears his throat.

“You didn’t have to do that –“

“Don’t mention it. Ever.” Hux sneers. The trooper looks like he’s about to say something else, but Hux can’t take another gushing, earnest apology today. He snaps his hand towards the door. “Well? Go! Before I change my mind!” The trooper startles and rushes from the room, leaving Hux alone.

He has to be more careful. These people can sniff out weakness like blood in the water. Phasma was already suspicious of him, and he didn’t need her breathing down his neck any more than she already was. There was no room for sentimentality or compassion aboard this ship – Kylo wanted it run with brutal efficiency, anything less would _not_ be tolerated. He grunted a little as he thought of him: pretentious twat. His little tantrum yesterday was worth having to actually hold a conversation with him though; he loved how easily he could push his buttons, how quickly he could wind up Kylo and set him off like an angry spinning top with a bomb attached to it.

Hux leaves the room, hands in the pockets of his great coat as he strolls down the corridor. He gets as far as the end of the command sector before Phasma rounds on him at the doors. He keeps his face still, his lips locked in a smug smile.

“Still here, Captain? I’d have thought you’d be racing for the cafeteria. It’s dumpling Tuesday.” He drawls.

She makes no move to get out of his way, blocking the exit. “What the hell was that?” She snaps. She’s tall for a woman, and though he knows she has a pretty face under her helmet, he has an idea of how furious it looks right now. He can’t help but smirk a little. “That trooper should have been punished severely for the failure of his team, not given an afternoon off!”

“There’s a possibility he has intel that could be useful,” Hux shrugs easily. “Here I am, thinking we could actually learn something from hardware that the Rebels we’ve been tracking left behind. Silly me for wanting to explore any opportunity to find out more.”

“Cut the shit Hux,” Phasma spits. She towers over him, attempting to back him up to the door panel. Hux sighs and inspects his nails, knowing this will rile her up more. She speaks after a moment, her voice low. “You’re getting soft. What would Ren say if he knew you’ve been slipping?”

“Ren can suck my dick for all I care,” Hux says with a snort, grinning slyly at her. “I do wonder what he’d think of you ignoring possible evidence though. And threatening a Commander. Hmm?” When she says nothing, he sighs and pats her shoulder with a smirk. “Lighten up Captain. It’s lunch time. Go grab a muffin or something, calm yourself down before you have an aneurysm or something.” Hux smacks the panel to open the door and saunters down the corridor, laughing to himself as the doors roll shut behind him, cutting off Phasma’s shouted string of swear words.

It’s been a long day and it’s only lunch time. He hates treating people this way when they don't deserve it; he knew what he signed up for when he decided to join the Empire's efforts, but he was still unprepared for the brutal reality. He's surrounded by a constant tension, an atmosphere of darkness and lethality, no room for mistakes. He thinks to himself as he walks, _This is draining me._ The failed mission was no one's fault: there was no way to know the intel was out of date, the risk had always been there and they took the chance, even if it didn't work out. That should have been worth something in the officials eyes, but as usual they only saw the botched mission. Took out their frustration on the lackies. The Rebels were always three steps ahead of them, that's no one's fault. They're doing their best working on what little they have, but it's never good enough. He's tired of constantly working towards what feels like an unattainable goal with no rewards. The tension on board is mounting steadily, and he has to wonder if he'll survive it when it eventually snaps.

*****

He walks through the main atrium, past the cafeteria sector, and down a little corridor. The noise of the populace is slowly but surely replaced by the steady rumbling of the ship itself. He can already feel his stress levels lowering as he winds through it and its offshoot corridors, twisting and turning left and right and right again, until he reaches the familiar broken door. No one ever came here, it would never be fixed.

He huffs a contended little sigh and smiles as the grey droid rises from its place near the door.

"Addy!" His face breaks open in a wide grin. Sweet music suddenly fills the air and the robot rolls towards him. "How're you doing?"

"Hello sir," A5-D0 buzzes. "Would you like the usual?"

"Yeah pal," Hux crouches in front of the book case, fingers walking across creased spines until he finds the one he wants. He pulls it out, rises with a grunt, and falls into a heap on one of the squashy sofas. He kicks his shoes off, wriggles out of his coat, and sits in his plain shirt and trousers. Hux flicks through the book until the snapped elastic band he used as a bookmark appears. He settles down into the couch, feet draped across the arm, picking up where he left off in the old romance novel.

Hux finishes the chapter he was on: Marionetta has found out Antonio has been untrue - can they reconcile? He'll find out after lunch, as A5-D0 settles a plate on the glass table with a clatter.

"Sir? Lunch is ready." Hux slips the elastic between the pages and swings his feet round to meet the floor, striding towards the table

"Thanks, Addy." He rubs his hands greedily as he flops into the chair at the head of the table, tucking into a plate piled high with meat pie and potatoes and bizarre veg. He wolfs it down, not stopping to wipe the sauce smeared on his chin until he's cleared his plate. He rubs a napkin over his face and drops it to the plate, rubs his belly and gives a little groan.

"I'm stuffed. There's more and more food each time you make it," He complains. A5-D0 rolls to his side and collects the plate and cutlery.

"You still finish it every time, sir. I would assume it means you aren't full yet, or if you will ever feel full." It buzzes.

"Is that your way of telling me I'm a greedy git, or that I'm getting fat?" Hux calls over his shoulder.

"I wouldn't know sir," The droid tones from behind him. "But your trousers _are_ looking slightly tighter than usual."

"Cheeky prick," Hux laughs, throwing his head back and snorting.

"Merely an observation sir," A5-D0 replies glibly.

"Of course," Hux grins and rubs his stomach again, leaning back in the chair to stretch his long limbs out until his elbow cracks with a satisfying _pop_. He stands and runs his hand through his red hair, looking forward to finding out Antonio's fate in the battered book on the chair, when something on the table catches his eye. He makes his way around to the top end and eyes it curiously. There used to be a faint mark close to the edge where a ball he'd been bouncing against the wall had ricocheted and skidded across the table. In its place was a stark black hangman's gallows, with eight neat dashes underneath. He looks around the room with suspicion and back to the table, his brows creased in thought.

"Addy?" He asks. The droid is half way through loading his dish into the washer and buzzes slightly. "When did this happen?"

"I'm not sure sir." A5-D0 replies while it works away.

"Did you see who did it?"

"No sir, I didn't notice anyone writing on the table." The droid closes the washer with a small thump and returns to its usual resting place between the bookcase and the wall. "Would you like me to play the usual sir?"

"Uh...yes. Yes please." Hux rubs one of the lines with his thumb and sees it disappear: so it's not permanent, at least. If anyone was to come in here they wouldn't dare attempt to pull him up for vandalism, and neither would they question why he was using the rec room, but all the same it was unsettling to think he'd been sharing what he'd thought was an empty room. This had become something of a little sanctuary for him, especially in recent months when the tension between officials had been high and the stakes for finding the Rebels had been even higher. It felt like someone rifling through his underwear drawer without him knowing, like his privacy has been invaded.

Behind him, A5-D0 settles down into its 'standby' position, tucking its limbs into its chest. Low music with a fast tempo and a thumping bass has started to flow from its speakers. Hux grunts a resigned 'humph' to himself and ambles back over to the couch, picking up his book and swinging his legs over the arm in one swift motion. It doesn't hold its earlier casualness though. He still feels ruffled, and it annoys him that the idea of someone coming here after all this time, no matter how likely it would eventually be discovered, plays on his mind.

After a few minutes of reading the same line over and over again ( " _No, Marionetta, I swear, she meant nothing to me! NOTHING!_ " ) he decides to do something about it. He drops his book and goes straight to the table, reaching across to the tub of pens, picking a bright, ostentatious red. He turns it in his hands as he sits down to think. He hasn't played Hangman in years, not since his schooldays. One of the first rules was to guess vowels, wasn't it? He uncaps the pen and scrawls a capital 'O' under the neat dashes, and squeezes the cap back on with a satisfying _click_. Much better. Hux gets up, scraping the chair across the floor, and strides back to the couch with a pleased smile playing across his lips. He lets himself fall to the couch andchooses to ignore the two cushions he's knocked to the floor, instead picking his book back up, fidgeting against the cushions to get comfortable.

"Are you quite happy now, sir?" A5-D0 drones above the music.

Hux taps his foot in the air along to the bass line and lazily twists the broken elastic between his fingers as he reads. If no one replies to his childish display, he'll know no one else has come back to the room. And if they do reply? Well, he'll have someone to play Hangman with then. He turns the page with a flick and settles further into the squishy cushions before he replies to the droid.

"Happy as Larry. You know me, I'm easily pleased."

"Previous experience doesn't imply anything to the contrary I suppose, sir." Comes the snide buzz from the droid.

"If you weren't so good at baking pies Addy, I'm pretty sure I'd have lobbed you into the garbage chute by now."

"The fact you like home cooking so much suggests you may not be capable of the task as well as before, sir."

"Go fuck yourself!" Hux chokes out a laugh.

"Would that it were so simple, sir."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you'll probably have worked out that the perspective of the story will be changing from chapter to chapter, but I thought I should mention that it may not switch regularly, or it may be between more than just two characters. You'll just have to wait and see!
> 
> As usual, if you have questions, comments or concerns, feel free to drop me a comment!


	3. Chapter 3

As per usual, Kylo is in a bad mood.

It's not his fault either: his morning started awful and has only worsened. He fell out of bed, waking him up with a yell. He banged his head on the bedside table when he tried to stand, which knocked a half-full glass of water all over him. When he finally stood up, sodden, growling to himself and still half-asleep, he'd found a message on the large console in his living quarters requesting his presence at a morning meeting. Now he's standing in front of said console while it rings, leaning heavily on the counter and drumming his fingers.

Finally someone picks up: Phasma's reflective uniform appears on screen, unfortunately alongside the one his own camera picks up, showing him in drenched pyjamas with wild hair. He scowls, and his reflection scowls back. "What?" Kylo grunts.

"Good morning Kylo," Phasma says smoothly. "You -"

"I'm not going." He mutters. "I told you yesterday, I'm not attending any more bullshit meetings where it's all talk and no action."

"We figured you'd gotten over your little tantrum yesterday," Hux's silky voice floats through the speakers, and Kylo's hackles rise as the man himself steps cheerily into view. Hux's face breaks out into a grin before he suppresses it, holding his arms behind his back and raising an eyebrow. "Or maybe not - woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, have we?"

"Shut up. I'm not going." Kylo spits. There's pressure building behind his eyes; a tension headache on top of the bump from hitting the table. All before 9AM. Great. "I'm not entertaining this any more. I made it clear I'm not to be disturbed unless -"

"We couldn't give a flying fuck if you decided to jump ship and join the Rebellion, Ren." Hux rolls his eyes with exaggeration but keeps his smug smirk in place. "It's not us demanding you show up. It's Supreme Lord Snoke."

Kylo's face falls and he shoots up straight. "Snoke?"

"Yes. You have ten minutes." Phasma leans forward to end transmission, but not before Hux gives a cheery wave from behind her. As soon as both of their faces disappear from the screen, Kylo lets out the breath he's been holding and runs his hands through his hair; it's sticking out at all angles and falling around his face. He's been meaning to get it cut for weeks, but strangely enough he's enjoying having it long enough to sweep back. He starts to slip off his pyjamas as he makes his way to the shower room. Snoke reporting in this early in the game can't mean anything good. His morning has now officially gone from bad to worse.

 

*****

Hux drains his glass of water and checks the time on the wall. Phasma is tapping her boot against the ground in an irritated staccato, her arms crossed while she huffs impatient sighs every so often. Hux leans back and stretches, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Think he'll show up?" He asks lightly. Phasma snorts with derision before she faces him.

"He has to. It's Snoke." As if he were summoned, the steel doors roll open and Kylo Ren strides into the cavernous meeting room reserved especially for Snoke's communications. He practically stomps ahead to the console in the centre of the room, slams a few buttons, and pointedly ignores Phasma and Hux at the station to his left. Hux shares a look with Phasma before rising to his feet, both of them joining him at the centre console.

"Thank goodness you changed out your pyjamas, wouldn't want to be giving Snoke the wrong impression now, would we?" Hux grins. He takes great delight in the way Kylo's shoulders tense at his voice.

"What, like the impression you give is much better? You don't even wear a helmet." Kylo mutters, refusing to face Hux. Of course, Hux thinks to himself, he'd learned long ago how to push Ren's buttons. He won't make him snap, but he'll wind him up enough to leave him stammering and tense, embarrass him in front of Snoke. It's the little things in life.

"I must say, it must be wonderful getting to be a lazy bastard in the mornings - don't need to worry about clothes, just fling a robe on."

"Hux," Phasma warns from beside him, but he just shoots her a grin.

"Bedhead like yours isn't a bother, you're just going to jam a helmet on top of it anyway. Hides that ugly mug as well, so that's a double win."

"General, I'm warning you." Kylo snaps, finishing punching buttons on the console for the moment. But Hux can't help himself.

"And those patterned pyjamas - how fetching! Had no idea you had such impeccable dress sense Ren. Though I've got to know - those wet patches, surely they weren't -" Hux is interrupted by Kylo rounding on him with a snarl. Phasma stands with a bored stance behind the two men; Kylo's shoulders are bunched up to his ears, his gloved hands clenched into fists, coiled and tense and ready to fly at the red-headed man in front of him. Hux, meanwhile, has his arms folded and a satisfied smile plastered over his face, his hip cocked and his chin stuck out, daring Kylo to even try it.

A deep, cracked voice booms overhead.

"Do any of you care to explain to me why I am having to intervene your childish squabbles?" Supreme Leader Snoke's face appears above them, clearly deeply unimpressed. The two men straighten up instantly and snap to attention. Hux can almost feel Phasma rolling her eyes under her helmet. Kylo stands forward first, rolling his shoulders back and steeling himself.

“Lord Snoke,” Kylo begins, but Hux interjects quickly and confidently.

“We are discussing Squadron 12 and 13 returning from their scout yesterday, Lord Snoke.” Hux says, noticing Kylo clenching his fists beside him.

“Hmph.” Grunts the huge face projected above them. “From what I heard, your troopers failed to capture any insurgents, and two are still in medical. A failure on your part, General Hux.”

“Not exactly,” Hux allows a small smile. “One of the Sergeants had the wherewithal to recover a smashed droid from the scene. Its hard drive was damaged, but recoverable. We found something.” Kylo whipped his head round to face Hux: he hadn’t been informed of this.

“…Go on.” Lord Snoke allows. Hux brings himself up straighter and schools his face to attempt to look professional, hide the smug expression he really wants to bare.

“The data was mostly corrupted, but we discovered information pertaining to the Jedi Temple. The Rebels are still looking for Luke Skywalker, and it hints at a map. Part of it is hidden in a droid, accompanied by one Poe Dameron.”

“A Resistance fighter?” Snoke questions.

“And one of their best pilots. He’s part of Organa’s inner circle, and clearly trusted enough to protect this droid. We couldn’t decrypt all of it, but it suggests his next location is Jakku.” Hux rolls his shoulders back. Relishes the satisfaction washing through him at knowing this when Ren doesn’t. That’ll teach him to think meetings are beneath him, pretentious arsehole.

“Hm. Good work, General. Captain Phasma, I assume the troopers have been de-briefed?” Snoke’s face is still, but the interest is obvious in his raspy voice.

“Yes sir. This droid was closely guarded, so we can safely assume the droid and Rebel fighter are going to be even harder to find. But we will. We have our best men working on it right now.”

“Good. Finish your preparations, and update me with details of the scout.” Snoke says with finality in his tone. Hux and Phasma nod, knowing a dismissal when they hear one, and turn to leave. Kylo goes to join them when Snoke stops him in his tracks. “Not you, Kylo Ren. We have things to discuss in private.”

Hux flashes a snide grin as he passes Kylo and follows Phasma out the huge room, and lets his shoulders drop with relief as the doors roll shut behind them.

“Oh thank god, I thought we were done for!” He sighs. She shakes her head as they follow the winding corridors to one of the nearby meeting rooms. “Who told him about yesterday?”

“I did.” Phasma says simply, nodding at the two troopers guarding the door before they enter the room. “I won’t have infighting while the stakes are so high. We’re so close, Hux – I can feel it. We need to catch a break. I can’t have Ren thinking he can flounce off when he pleases – we all need to band together on this.”

“You ran to daddy and told tales, Phas? I’m wounded,” Hux teases. Phasma shrugs slightly as she pulls up details on the decrypted droid on the huge screen at the back of the room, gloved fingers tapping furiously. She pulls up a map of Jakku and transfers it to the holographic display in the centre of the long table, and sits at the head of it. She clasps her hands primly, thumbs rubbing the top of her hands, and shakes her head.

“I don’t care. I’m not letting us become fracture. We all have the same end goal, and we’re allowing ourselves to become distracted by bickering.” Phasma rubs the back of her neck with a sigh. “For what it’s worth, I agreed with you yesterday. I know you and Kylo clash, but you’ve got to be professional about this.”

“I want to punch that ignorant prick through his mask.” Hux huffs, dropping to his chair finally and folding his arms sullenly. “He thinks he’s so much better than us all, just because his grandfather was –“

“It doesn’t matter who his grandfather was. It doesn’t matter. This isn’t the Empire, this is the First Order. And while he’s Snoke’s apprentice, you’re General and I’m Captain. We need to be on the same page.” Phasma says firmly.

“So now I’m getting a lecture from you too?” Hux scoffs. He kicks out under his seat and drops his chin to his chest, glaring at the glass table.

“Yes. And you’ll shut up and take it like you always do.” He could hear the smile in her voice and he relaxes a little. “Now snap out of your sulk, I need to summon Mitaka and the others.” As Phasma rises to the console screen again, Hux sighs with annoyance. He’d rather be anywhere than here right now; maybe Kylo had a point about being sick of talking tactics. He groans quietly and rubs his face: he needs a day off. Badly.

 

  
*****

Kylo steels himself as Hux and Phasma leave the room, and slowly turns around to face Snoke. He knows what’s coming, and he feels ashamed at having to be admonished again.

“Kylo.” Snoke’s voice doesn’t soften. “We’ve discussed this before.”

“I know, Lord Snoke. But in my defense, it’s becoming insufferable – they talk their way around in circles, never reaching a firm inclusion. If we had acted as soon as we’d heard about the insurgents on –”

“If you acted without thinking you could have ended up with more than two Stormtroopers injured.” Snoke says lazily, though his tone is becoming dangerous. “And if you stopped referring to your colleagues as ‘they’ you may work better with them. They are not your equals, but they hold equal power to you in regards to this cruiser.”

“They treat me like I’m an idiot.” Kylo can feel his temper rising despite himself, and he holds his clenched fists behind his back. His head is pounding worse than this morning, and he’s glad his helmet is covering the twitch in his eye.

“You _can_ be an idiot.” Snoke tones, and Kylo winces; he hates being dressed down like this, spoken to like a naughty child. “You’re my apprentice, and they are your team. Find a way to work it out, because I will _not_ be contacting you all to pull you up on your shortcomings again.”

“I am treated with no respect on this ship, Lord Snoke,” Kylo interjects with earnest. “They have no care for who I am, who my grandfather was –”

“And yet you seem to forget your parents are at the helm of the Resistance.” Snoke growls. Kylo winces and looks down, contrite. He hates being reminded of them and the feelings they stir up within him. He can feel it already, the uneasy twisting in his gut. “Do what you’re supposed to do while upon this ship. Prove to me you’re the man I hoped you’d once be when I took you under my wing, and show me it wasn’t for nothing. This is your last chance, Kylo Ren.” With that, Lord Snoke’s face disappears from view and the huge room is silent once more. Kylo stands for a few moments, tension thrumming through him. He needs to think this over, to let Snoke’s words sink in properly.

  
He can’t go back to his room – it’s still a mess from this morning, clothes and robes strewn across the room, his blankets dumped in an angry snarl from where he fell on the floor, water splashed across the tiles and the glass broken at the side of the table. It’s worlds away from its usual clinical neatness. He needs somewhere to unwind, to think. He knows it’s self-flagellating, but that’s the only thing getting him through life recently: punishing himself, pushing himself further and letting criticism cut him deep to harden himself against the world. Before he can change his mind, he whirls from the console and strides from the room, taking long loping steps.

Kylo can’t remember exactly where it is. He found the rec room by accident, from stomping through the corridors to try to work off his frustration from the meeting. It takes him about twenty minutes of charging around the ship before he almost misses it again, the broken door panel flashing red and catching his eye. He strides in and stops in the centre of the room, feeling a little silly. He looks around him, not really sure what to do now. He wrings his hands and slowly moves to the sink, thinking a glass of cold water would maybe help him cool off a little. A beep and a buzz from behind him cause him to jerk and accidentally crack his thumb off the faucet.

“Allow me, sir.” A5-D0 had rolled silently from his place in the corner, now rolling from behind him to the sink. “Would you like the gurano juice from yesterday? Or perhaps something different?”

“Erm…Sure.” Kylo says uncertainly, standing awkwardly while the robot bustles inside cupboards and setting up bizarre gadgets.

“You can sit down and rest now, sir. I don’t need a second pair of hands when I have four extra sets already.” The droid buzzes glibly, and Kylo frowns a little at him; he could clearly hear the inflections in its tones now, and it confuses him slightly that it holds more personality than all of their Stormtroopers combined. Yet another thing about this room that’s throwing him off. He decides to stick to what he knows and makes for the scratched table at the wall, sitting in the top seat like yesterday. He takes off his mask and smooths his hair back from his forehead, damp with sweat from parading around the _Finalizer_. He hesitates before removing his gloves and slipping his cloak off too, draping them across the chair beside him. He drops his face to his hands, breathing deep and trying to drop the tension squeezing his shoulders and temples like a vice. A5-D0 pipes up behind him.

“Would you like anything to eat, sir? It’s almost lunchtime, and I am a proficient cook.” It almost sounds proud, and a smile twitches at Kylo’s lips.

“Surprise me.” He says as it settles a glass of yellow fruit juice. It rolls back to the kitchen area, clattering pans and bottles. Kylo clears his throat and takes a sip of the sweet juice, relishing as it slips down and cools his throat. The only sounds are A5-D0 working in the background, and a brisk whirring noise starts up. Kylo turns in his chair to see it whisking up batter and cracking eggs into it.

“Could you…maybe play some of that music from yesterday?” He falters, feeling self-conscious for talking to a robot this way. He’d never have stooped to this before; the most he conversed with a droid before was barking orders at one and kicking it into action. The thought made his stomach jerk with a pang of guilt.

“Certainly sir.” It said mildly, the soft melody from the day before instantly filling the air. He nodded and turned back in his chair, eyes scanning the room. They fall on a black mark on the table: his hangman’s gallows. To his surprise, a red ‘O’ is circled beneath the letters. Someone had came in after his tantrum, and continued his game of hangman. Kylo looks around the room once more; there’s no sign anyone else had been here. Not a cushion out of place, not a book out of order on the large bookshelf. He curled his hair from where it was falling to his chin behind his ear, and smiled to himself. He reached for one of the black whiteboard pens in the pot and drew a neat circle on the hangman’s gallows: a head. He capped the pen and tossed it back into the pot, a little thrill brewing within him.

“Who else comes in here?” He asks over his shoulder, rising and making his way over to the bookshelf.

“No one really, sir.” The droid buzzes. Kylo stoops to inspect the book titles: sci-fi, romance, war novels, a few tactical pamphlets among many others. He hums non-committally to himself.

“You sure?” He mumbles, picking up a book with a woman glaring down the sights of a blaster on the cover. She looks too similar to his mother, so he quickly shoves it back in place.

“Recreational Room purposes are to relax, enjoy others company, unwind from the stresses of every day life onboard the ship.” The droid says, pouring the mixture in a large tin and placing it inside a hidden oven. “They are used by employees, officers, troopers, visitors –“

“Not this one though? It doesn’t look like any troopers have been in here for a while, they leave a mess behind them wherever they go.” Kylo grunts.

“There haven’t been any troopers in here for 93 days, sir.” The droid says simply, and Kylo looks over his shoulder questioningly. What an odd way to phrase an answer. Instead of probing, he turns his attention back to the books.

“Any recommended reading material from here?” He asks. The droid busies itself tidying up, loading the tiny washer with batter-sticky dishes and utensils.

“The stories of Terra are by a highly-acclaimed author, so I recall. I wouldn’t recommend the romance novels, they are what one would call ‘trashy’. Unless you like that sort of thing.” It buzzes lightly. Kylo snickers a little at the idea of a droid having a specific taste in books, and picks up one of the Terran books. He rises with a pop of his knees, and perches on the couch.

Kylo rationalises that the game of Hangman has been continued by A5-D0. The little droid seems like a sly little bugger, and he wouldn’t put it past it. He lets the thought drift from his mind while he settles into the squashy cushions. The smell of cake slowly baking is wafting through the air, the music is gentle and calm, and his headache is slowly beginning to recede as he gets tucked into his book. Maybe today isn’t a total write-off after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kind words and kudos on this work so far! I wonder what our beloved Space Idiots are going to get up to next...
> 
> As usual, if you have questions, comments or concerns, feel free to drop me a comment!


	4. Chapter 4

“Are we clear on this?” Hux leans against the wall of the briefing room. He’s joined the trooper commanders in their sector, listening to them instructing their soldiers on the new developments. Technically, they’re _his_ soldiers: the growing ranks of rigidly trained Stormtroopers has been his prerogative since he was first accepted into the First Order, and he oversees every aspect of their lives meticulously. This is his legacy. He won’t resort to unreliable clones or drafting in any old geezer off the streets. This is what Hux will be remembered for.

That is what he tries to remind himself as the commanders finish up. He’s trying to teach them more responsibility, to wield a firm but understanding hand to each of their infantries. He knows from experience that constant negative enforcement does nothing but create divides between the powers that be and the workers that toil. He won’t make the same mistake others before him made. He has to be a perfectionist with this, and balance compassion with order. But the lax, unsure attitude of his commanders is proving to be a problem. He’ll address it after the officials meeting this afternoon, he decides. He nods at Commander Opten as he dismisses the troopers, and leaves quickly and quietly.

He strolls towards the cafeteria, catching sight of Phasma’s shining uniform on the way. He’s eager to inspect the rec room and see if anyone replied to his scrawl on the table, but he can’t spend another lunch time away from the crew. He doesn’t want to arouse suspicion. He rakes his hair back and offers an easy grin as he nears her standing in line. She nods.

“All done?” She asks, pushing past Mitaka for a piece of fruit.

“Yup,” Hux says. “The troops have been updated, they’re preparing to leave at a moment’s notice. We just have to get this meeting over and done with and we can head out.” Mitaka looks ready to complain at Phasma skipping him in line, but a hard glare through her helmet is enough to shut him up with a gulp. She turns back to Hux and steps out of line with her fruit.

“Good. I can’t have any loose ends – this needs to be tighter than the last mission. We can’t afford any more reprimands from Snoke.” She says in a tired voice.

“Are you not going to eat that?” Hux gestures to the apple.

“I’ll eat it before the meeting…why?” Phasma asks, perplexed at the change of subject. Hux fights to keep a straight face.

“Never seen you with your helmet off. I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing though, judging by what Kylo’s mask is hiding.” He says slyly. Phasma bristles.

“I have no need to remove my helmet among you plebeians. I hear what they say, I know the jokes that go around about me. Better not to have a face to put to them.” She says testily. Hux feels a little guilty at that. He knows it can’t be easy, being one of the only women in charge aboard the cruiser. He doesn’t mean to tease her about that of all things.

“Fair enough.” He says lightly, looking around and deliberately finding a way to change the subject awkwardly. “Speaking of which, think his Lordship will bother to grace us with his presence today?”

“He’d better,” Phasma says darkly. “I’m willing to bet Snoke tore him a new one yesterday.”

“Hm. Well, in that case I’d better prepare myself for round – what round are we on? Thirty? Forty?” Hux grins at her and she points at him.

“No. No more playground squabbles. I’m not risking this mission getting compromised because you two can’t behave yourselves. Didn’t you listen to a word I said?”

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding,” Hux holds up his hands to placate her, backing off to the corridor outside the cafeteria sector. “Just going to grab some things. I’ll be on my best behaviour, I promise!”

“You’d better,” Phasma grunted, leaving him to turn and stroll towards the rec room.

 

 

Hux finds his feet carrying him quicker than usual, and the red light of the broken door panel greets him soon after.

"Honey, I’m home!” He calls out as A5-D0 rises.

“I thought today was your day to dine with the rest of the ship, sir?” It asks. Hux immediately moves towards a couch in the corner, picking up a large purple cushion and tossing it over his shoulder.

“It is, I just need to find my notebook.” He digs under the pile of pillows, hands scrabbling and finally finding the tear in the fabric of the couch. He dips in further and when his fingers catch on its hard corner, he grips and works out a battered little notebook from the body of the couch. He knocks over a couple more cushions as he goes to the table and drops heavily into a chair, flicking through the pages until he finds the ones he was scribbling in yesterday afternoon.

“You do realise I have to clean up after you, sir. What a mess.” The droid hums behind him, irritated. Odd. Hux didn’t realise droids could be irritated.

“Its your job, Addy. Who am I to keep a droid from his duty?” Hux says lightly while he licks a finger and continues leaving through the crumpled pages.

“Who indeed.” A5-D0 says darkly, picking up cushions and rearranging them neatly. Hux has been using this notebook for months, pouring out thoughts, ideas, feelings and frustrations after he’s been fed and watered, and usually after he finishes a chapter in whatever romance novel he’s wrapped up in. Yesterday he’d scribbled some quick ideas after Antonio had won back Marionetta (“ _If you hurt me again Antonio, I swear with everything I have, I will destroy you!” “Never, my love, never again!”_ – but of course, Hux knew Antonio wouldn’t be able to help himself against the siren calls of Giovanna) and he almost flicks right past them in his rush.

“What time is it Addy?” He mumbles distractedly, tearing out a couple of pages and stuffing them into the pocket of his greatcoat.

“Twenty minutes to the hour, sir.”

“One?”

“Two, sir.”

“Fuck!” Hux cries, jumping to his feet and knocking over the notebook and a chair in the process.

“The meeting is in five minutes!”

“On the other side of the ship as well, sir. You may want to get a move on.” Addy replies lightly, settling back into the corner having rearranged the couch cushions.

“You’re telling me – see you later,” Hux rushes to the entrance. He grabs the edge of the half-rolled shut door and swings himself into the corridor, halting in his tracks when he remembers the other reason he wanted to check the rec room: the table. He whips around and jogs back inside, landing with both hands against the glass table top. Sure enough, his ‘O’ has been crossed out and the Hangman has been given a head. He huffs incredulously and reaches for the red marker in the pot.

“Back so soon?” Addy asks mildly. Hux taps the pen cap against his knuckle for a moment before scrawling a capital “E” beneath the lines and turning tail.

“I just missed your company so much, my dear Addy.” He shoots the robot a smirk and makes for the corridor. As soon as the last swirl of his coat is gone from sight, A5-D0 buzzes a sigh and rolls over, righting the dropped chair and lifting the discarded notebook. It hesitates, and instead of putting it back in its hiding place, it places the battered book upon the table, next to the Hangman.

Hux is walking as quickly as he can to the meeting room and trying his best not to look as ruffled and harassed as he feels. It doesn’t quite work.

 

***

Kylo enters the meeting room with his usual flourish. He refuses to let himself feel shame over his outburst the other day. Over Snoke’s admonishment. Over the eyes turning to him and the raised eyebrows from the officials around the table. Though admittedly, he is glad of the mask concealing the blush rising in his cheeks. He sits gracefully at the head of the table, straightening his shoulders and focusing dead ahead. Everyone’s attention eventually turns to Phasma, who is deftly pulling up maps, co-ordinates, and data recovered from the smashed droid. She turns to face them all, an intimidating presence in her gleaming armor.

“Thank you for coming. I’m aware this is short notice, and that –”

“Sorry! Sorry,” Hux practically falls into the room, his hair ruffled from running and pink spots high on his cheekbones. “I’m here now, carry on.” He adjusts himself and clears his throat, slicks his hair back and settles into his usual seat on Kylo’s left. Kylo turns his head slightly towards him, grinning at his dishevelled appearance.

“Don’t.” Hux mutters with a scowl, raking his red hair back from his forehead. Kylo shrugs a little and turns back to the table; he’ll let himself feel a little smug about this. Just a little.

Phasma stares hard at Hux before continuing. “As I was saying: I know this is sudden, and we’re sick of constant discussion. But the other day, the returning infantry found data on their scout. This was recovered from the drive of a droid they brought back from the wreckage.” She manipulates the controls, and the details from the hard drive flash up on the hologram in the centre of the table. Kylo and Hux have seen it before, but the officials lean forward, mumbling among themselves.

“This is the last known co-ordinates of Poe Dameron, a Resistance fighter pilot. He’s accompanying a BB-8 unit which contains part of a map. It took us a while, but we figured out it’s possibly a map to the last Jedi temple.”

“You’re joking,” gasps Unamo.

“Could this mean –” another voice interjects.

“This could lead us to Luke Skywalker. The data was buried deep enough that they obviously didn’t want it found. It doesn’t matter what you think about the Force, or Jedi – he’s the poster child for the Rebellion. As long as there’s even a possibility he’s alive, he’s the strength behind their efforts.” Phasma says gravely.

“He must be destroyed.” Kylo mutters. He dampens down any emotions he may feel towards the way they’re speaking about his uncle, and actively forces himself to think the way he should; the way Vader would.

“I agree. Which is why we need to plan an extraction: get Dameron and the droid, keep them here and interrogate.” Phasma nods.

“And then exterminate them.” Kylo says finally. Hux cocks his head towards him.

“Surely not?” He asks, addressing the rest of the table, but keeping his eyes trained on Ren. “Wouldn’t it be better to hold him on board as our hostage?”

“And what purpose does that serve?” Kylo scoffs. “They’ll only want to come looking for him.”

“Not if we can get a message to the Resistance that we’ve captured him. He’s ours. And so is the map.” Hux insists. “We can use him-”

“You know how persistent those scum are,” Kylo interrupts. “They’ll find a way on board. They’ll want to take back what is theirs.”

“Not if we slip him down to Starkiller” Hux says earnestly. He pulls crumpled papers from within his coat, shaking them out. “We get Dameron and the BB-8 unit. We extract whatever information we can from them on board a TIE fighter. We send a coded message from there once he tells us how he communicates with the Resistance, and we change course last minute to Starkiller. I’ve got it all planned out.” There are rumblings of agreement around the table. Even Phasma’s head is tilted in thought. It makes Kylo’s blood boil.

“You just want any excuse to flash your stupid base around,” Kylo snaps, pointing a finger at Hux, who’s brows have furrowed. “The Finalizer has better cloaking methods, faster knots in travel –”

“Oh here we go, anything for another Kylo Ren power struggle special,” Hux snips at him, rolling his eyes and his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You lasted what – all of five minutes?”

“If five minutes is all you need to let yourself feel important then sure, you can call it that,” Kylo goads. He leans back into his seat and folds his arms haughtily. Hux’s face has started to redden.

“At least I contributed actual ideas instead of biting everyone’s head off!” He sneers, leaning into Kylo’s space. Kylo braces his hands on the table and forces himself up, keeping him and Hux at loggerheads.

“At least I got here on time!” He spat.

“ENOUGH.” Roared Phasma, slamming her hand on the table. The two men startle and whip their heads around to face the furious Captain. “We end this childish bickering. NOW. I’ve had enough. Does anyone here have any better ideas?” The table is cloaked in an awkward silence, the only sound being Kylo’s breath against his heavy mask. “Good. We go with Hux’s plan. Extraction. Interrogation. Communication. Hostage. We will only execute if necessary, and the BB unit will be refurbished for First Order purposes. Happy?” More silence. “Good. Dismissed.”

The two men stand up at the same time, glowering at each other. Hux’s delicate features are contorted in a mean sneer, and Kylo’s brows ache where they’re gathered in anger at the bridge of his long nose.

“I said ‘dismissed’.” Phasma warns. Neither of them face her, keeping the stand off for a few more moments until Kylo grunts with disgust and pushes past Hux, slamming into his shoulder and making him stumble.

“Oh fuck you, Ren. Go run and cry over Grandpa’s mask,” He snarls. Kylo visibly stiffens for a moment before stomping furiously out of the room. Hux makes to follow before Phasma snaps at him.

“Not you. You stay here and cool off.” Hux stares after the rolling door until it closes, then collapses into his chair with a frustrated huff. He rubs his temples and leans on the table. “Why do you do that? Why do you let him bother you?”

“He just – he’s so fucking infuriating! He never listens to anything I say, and if he does he uses it against me to make me out to be weak. I’m sick and tired of his holier-than-thou attitude, Phas. I really am.” He groans. He folds his arms and leans on them. Phasma comes to stand behind him, hesitates, and awkwardly pats his shoulder.

“Stay here until you calm down. Ignore him. For what it’s worth, it’s a good strategy. You should be proud of yourself.”

“When am I not proud of myself?” He mumbles into his forearms, no real mirth behind the quip. He straightens up when he hears Phasma starting to leave. “You’re not staying?”

“No. I haven’t had lunch yet.” She says simply. He cocks an eyebrow, deadpan.

“And here I was thinking I’d finally get to see if you eat.” He says. She snorts and shakes her head, leaving the room. “Are you sure you don’t have mandibles under there? Five rows of teeth? A snout?”

“Fuck you, Hux,” She yells from the hall.

Hux snickers and calls back after her, “You wish!”

 

***

Kylo is still storming around the Finalizer while his thoughts swirl darkly. He stomped out yet again. He rose to Hux’s bait yet again. He lost his temper…yet again. All of this less than a day after Snoke warned him? He’s furious with himself. The disappointment in himself is so palpable he can taste it, bitter on the back of his tongue and it disgusts him. Before he realises it, he’s heading towards the rec room. The red light is already ahead; he’s happened upon it much quicker than before, already the route is becoming so familiar he barely needs to think about what twists and turns to take. He can feel the rage quell slowly as he approaches. It drops from his shoulders and melts down his torso, dripping into the spaces between his knees and leaking from his hard rubber soles while his footsteps slow and soften. By the time he’s outside the broken door his tread is almost catlike with its silence and gentility. He doesn’t know why this place has this effect on him; maybe it actually fulfils the purpose it was built for. Chance would be a fine thing knowing his luck, but he welcomes the Pavlovian effect it has on him all the same.

A5-D0 is already bustling in the kitchen, whirring high-speed whisks and clattering tins around the tiny kitchen area. There’s different music playing from last time; the deep, throbbing bass of an almost indiscernible tune. It’s as though the machines and turbines deep within the belly of the cruiser could make music and channel it through the busy droid, who turns at the sound of Kylo dropping to one of the sofas.

“Oh, hello sir.” It bristles. Kylo doesn’t look at him but nods politely.

“Hi.” He says quietly. Now all the adrenaline has ebbed from his system he feels spent and embarrassed. The music quickly changes to the sweet melody from yesterday. Kylo pulls one of the loose squishy cushions and clutches it to his chest, looking over to the droid. “Were you expecting someone else?” He jerked his head towards the droids chest.

“Simply passing the time sir.” It replies meekly.

“I didn’t know droids could get bored.”

“I suppose there’s a few things you don’t know, sir.” A5-D0 buzzes, pouring a pale yellow batter with bright pink flecks into one of the large tins. Kylo huffs a little amused laugh and pushes himself back up, taking the cushion with him to scan the book case for the Terran novel he was reading yesterday. He enjoyed it despite himself.

“What’s on the menu today then, A5-D0?” Kylo picks out his book and flops back onto the couch, sinking in and letting his bones settle while he thumbs for this place from the day before.

“Jurland spice cake. My speciality.” The droid rolls over to the glass table as it buzzes its reply and settles a tall glass of the yellow juice that is fast becoming Kylo’s favourite, with a small flourish upon the table.

“You have a speciality?” The droid pauses, and though its metal components make up facial features that are fixed, Kylo swears if it had eyebrows one would be cocked.

“Of course. Baking is relaxing. Food is nourishing. Cake is delicious. A combination of the three gives a most pleasing result.” It turns back to the kitchen before buzzing sardonically, “…Sir.”

Kylo shakes his head, biting back a grin, and turns back to his book. The tension from earlier has almost completely disappeared: he loses himself, loses that sickening feeling of self-loathing, and loses any other thoughts while he becomes absorbed by his book.

Before long, the delicious smell of baking drags him out of his little world; Kylo sniffs the air, and it is rich and sweet with the scent of cake. He’s loathe to fold corners in pages or bend the spines of books, so he double checks his page number (56 – the Terran hero has agreed to be experimented on for his country) and places it squarely on the cushion beside him, strolling to the table. He’s hungrier than he first thought, and he can actually feel his mouth watering as the droid cuts a slice and presents it on a little plate in front of him.

“Uh…could I have a fork?” He asks. A5-D0 pauses for a moment before fetching one.

“My apologies sir. I forget civilised people actually use utensils to eat.” It buzzes. Kylo doesn’t quite know what to make of that one, and makes quick work of demolishing the pale pink cake slice. He sips his juice once finished, and almost knocks a battered note book off the edge of the table when he places his glass down. He catches it quickly before it tumbles off.

Kylo thinks about asking the droid about it before deciding against it; he has been asking quite a lot of questions, and there’s a niggling paranoia resting somewhere around his diaphragm that makes him wonder if it’s maybe one of Snoke’s, sent to gauge how he’s really running things. By all accounts if it is indeed spying for his leader, he’s already given the impression he hasn’t got a clue about the most mundane things, so he doesn’t want to give it any more ammo.

Instead Kylo thumbs through it carefully; the barely legible scrawls detail thoughts, feelings, worries, even dreams. He doesn’t need the Force to tell him he’s looking through something immensely private, so he snaps the book shut and lets it drop back to the table as he catches sight of the hangman’s noose. Today there is a backwards “3” drawn underneath. He frowns, picking up one of the markers and redrawing one of his lines beneath it. He rolls the pen lazily between his fingers as he goes back to the notebook: part of the scribbles that could be considered poor penmanship make up a word. Empire. The “E” is exactly the same as the 3 on the table; clearly whoever taught this person to write didn’t do it properly. He puts the book down again, placing a proper “E” on the correct place on the Hangman line; one letter correct. He can safely assume the person who wrote in the book is the same person who’s bizarrely playing Hangman with him on an old table in a forgotten part of the Finalizer. He grins to himself. It’s also definitely not the droid, going by the notebook; which means someone else uses this room.

Kylo takes another sip of juice, grunting with satisfaction at its delicious sweetness, and tears a blank page from the back of the notebook. This person wants to remain mysterious? Well, two can play at that game. And Hangman while they’re at it. He’s Kylo Ren: he’s the epitome of mystery and intrigue. Or so he tells himself as he carefully loops and swirls his way through writing a neat note, placing the paper next to the Hangman’s gallows, and weighting it in place with his glass.

He settles back down onto the couch to pick up where he left off in his book. The droid hasn’t said a word; washing dishes and playing music quietly. It leaves him alone with his thoughts: who is this person? Why are they keeping themselves secret? And most exciting of all, do they know it’s Kylo they’re playing a child’s game with? Kylo may keep to himself, he may try to maintain an enigmatic air, but everyone knows who he is. There’s no anonymity for him like what the troopers are blessed with. He’s half proud of the looks that cross people’s faces when they see him stride past in his mask, yet part of him wants to shrink away and for people to skim their eyes past him, ignoring him like he’s ship furniture. Another faceless drone.

Kylo loses himself once more in his book, wondering what he would do in the Terran heroes shoes, and what the hero would do in his. He’s not quite sure he knows what it truly means to be ‘heroic’ as this book puts it, and it leaves a slightly unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That Addy, chucking spanners in the works...
> 
> Thank you so much for all the kind words and kudos on this work so far! 
> 
> As usual, if you have questions, comments or concerns, feel free to drop me a comment!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that plans are being made to extract the Rebel pilot, stress levels are running high aboard the Finalizer. Kylo and Hux are pointedly avoiding each other and making good work of it too…but of course, they’ll always make time to escape to that quiet part of the ship they’ve grown to love. Meanwhile, our favourite sassy droid is baking up a storm!
> 
> Kylo’s writing is in italics, while Hux’s scribbles are in bold.

“Oooh, what’s that smell?” Hux rounds the corner and strolls into the rec room, hands already busy stripping off his greatcoat. A5-D0 has a huge basket of fruits piled on the counter beside it, and is methodically cutting and chopping and peeling such a wide variety that Hux isn’t sure he could even name half of them.

“Dathomir pie, sir. I believe it is also known as ‘cobbler’,” The droid drones in reply. “And it won’t be ready for another hour so you’ll have to be patient.”

“Since when am I impatient, my darling Addy?” Hux quips, making straight for the glass table. He feels a little thrill in his stomach when he sees a page held in place with a glass beside the Hangman’s scrawls. A tremor of dread runs through him when he realises the page has been torn from his notebook, and he tries to remember if he tucked it back into its hiding place when he’d last used it. Frantically, he mentally runs through what he’s written in it, if any of it could possibly be construed as incriminating. Surmising that he’s written nothing of note and even if he had, there’s nothing he can do it about it right now, he decides to worry about it later and instead drops heavily into a chair, flicking the paper out to read it:

 

_Have you ever played Hangman before? You’re not supposed to use numbers. Letters only, cheater._

 

He huffs an incredulous laugh to himself. The mysterious table-vandal really exists, and they actually wrote to him. Most people beneath him in ranks assumed he’d be as fearsome and unapproachable as that arsehole Ren (who he was glad to have avoided the past few days), so his only conversation on board the cruiser was either Grand Master Grump himself or his fellow officers. And he can’t exactly say their conversation is scintillating; on reflection, he thinks to himself, Phasma is probably the closest thing he has to a friend, and even then she keeps her distance.

Until now.

“Addy, who wrote this? Who’s been doing this?” Hux looks up; the droid is pointedly facing away from him, lining a large pastry dish with dough.

“I’m afraid I am programmed to secrecy, sir. ‘Anything which occurs or is said within the confines of the Finalizer’s recreational rooms are not to be repeated to parties which are not privy to that information’, or so it says.”

“Addy,” Hux groaned dramatically. “Tell meeee.”

“What’s the saying sir? I don’t kiss and tell.” The droid toned, pouring the fruit mixture into the dish. “Not that I have lips, or any inclination to swap motor lubricant with another, or anything of the sort. But the sentiment is there.”

Hux burst out laughing, snorting and turning his face red. “You’re a fucking riot, you know that?”

“Life of the party, I’m sure.”

He chuckles to himself. The little droid starts to play his usual music, and he rolls his sleeves up to start rifling through the pot on the table for a pen. The idea of writing to someone who’s been sharing the ship with him all this time and yet is anonymous is exciting. Hux himself would be anonymous. Everyone knew his name, his face, the prejudices that came with his rank. But to shrug all of that off, like a cloak heavy with rainfall, and share something so simple and pure like a child’s game with an utter stranger? The idea is too tantalising to give up.

 So he pulls the paper towards him, scribbles something down beneath the initial message as neatly as he can, which isn’t very, and taps end of the pen against his lip while he ponders his next letter.

  


*******

  
It’s been a week since he and Hux had blown up at each other in front of the other officers, and Kylo is grateful the dust has settled. He hasn’t left his quarters in that time, instead choosing to rearrange it, square it away; create order from chaos. Also he was getting sick of his ever-expanding floordrobe. He realises now the irony of trying to find his favourite black underpants in a sea of black clothing scattered across the floor.

Kylo scrapes his hair back once more, the rake of his long fingers through his inky locks soothing in their scratch. He places his mask on and slips his cowl over his head, ready to face the ship. Thankfully, no one gives him a second look. Again that lost feeling surges inside him; gratitude for their fear, longing for someone to just fucking _ask_ him how he’s doing. His schedule is free for another two days while the troopers are checked and triple checked for competency and plans are finalised; they can’t afford to make another mistake. He’s grateful to Phasma for updating him via comms messages left on his personal console; not that he’d ever tell her that, though.

So he finds his feet carrying him to the rec room. He swears he catches a flash of ginger hair among the officer’s table as he passes the cafeteria, but he refuses to acknowledge Hux just yet. Kylo’s eager to keep up his streak of avoiding his smug smirks. He loses the urge to stomp as soon as he’s out of sight and tucked in to the corridors, so Kylo slows his stride to an amble, enjoying the rare change of pace. He can take in the sounds of the ship properly, and he’s grown to like them. It’s as though the distant rumble is vibrating through his feet and working away the tension that always seems to be thrumming through his body.

A5-D0 is tucked in its usual corner, and it kicks in Kylo’s music as soon as he appears through the door.

“Hello, droid.” He nods at it.

“Good afternoon sir.” The droid rises and rolls its curious humanoid form towards a pitcher the tiny refrigerator. It takes out a pitcher of yellow fruit juice and a slice of pie and sets them on the table while Kylo drops his cowl and slips off his mask. “Forgive me for not being more of a host. I have to connect to the ships system to do inventory and request more food source sir. If you need anything, simply ask.”

“Will do.” Kylo mumbles, folding his cloak neatly after it drops from his shoulders. He places his helmet on top and arranges the bundle upon a lone armchair. He picks up his book and thumbs through the pages to find his place while he wanders back to the glass table.

Kylo takes a seat and helps himself to pie, amused to discover the droid has included cutlery this time. It’s sweet and sugary, with bursts of fruity flavour.

“This is good,” He mumbles with his mouth full, gesturing towards the fruity mess on his place. “What did you say it was?”

“Dathomir pie, sir.” A5-D0 drones in reply from its corner.

“Fruit cobbler? God bless Dathomir,” Kylo gives a small smile. He finds his place in the Terran novel (“ _Every bond is a bullet in your best guys gun!_ ”) and just as he’s about to settle in, book in one hand and fork in the other to work his way through the pie, he finds the paper from last week. With a reply.

“No fucking way.” He breathes. He drops the book, forgotten, and grabs the page, almost tearing it in his rush. Beneath his neat looping calligraphy, there’s a messy scrawl of a reply:

 

_Have you ever played Hangman before? You’re not supposed to use numbers. Letters only, cheater._

 

**It’s called ‘penmanship with flair’, darling. Now play the damn game. I guessed ‘P’, in case you couldn’t read it.**

 

Kylo grins to himself, excitement starting to flow through him. He now has a penpal – kind of. How bizarre. He glances at A5-D0, who is still playing music and supposedly running through inventory. He remembers his worries of the droid being one of Snoke’s spies, so he bites back his question about his mystery game mate. Instead, Kylo pops the cap off his black pen, draws a body on his hangman, and writes his reply on the page:

 

_I guess that’s my theory busted. I thought I was playing against the droid, but I’m sure it could write far better than you. How many pens have you broken so far? Guess again ‘darling’ – you’re running out of body parts here._

  


*******

The days pass slowly in the middle of the galaxy. The Finalizer prowls through zero gravity, a veritable hive of activity while plans are completed and paths are drawn to take down their next target. Troopers are briefed after their extra training is complete. Hux continues to wield firm yet compassionate control over his men. Kylo slinks into the command centre only once he’s sure his redheaded counterpart has left, and works with Phasma on planning routes through Jakku and confirming searches in areas the Resistance pilot could be occupying. Phasma continues to eat alone.

Kylo meets once more with Snoke’s hologram in the comms room; he’s praised for exercising control over his temper before Snoke launches into a long winded threat about upholding the good name of the First Order, and how he’s watching his progress closely. Kylo bristles at this before feeling his muscles lock up, and spends the days practically vibrating with tension, not knowing what to do with himself when he isn’t planning or meeting or eating in the rec room. On some days, his hair won’t even sit right thanks to his stupid helmet and he has to count to ten before brushing it out again; of course, cutting it means admitting defeat. Kylo doesn’t admit defeat.

Hux is proud of his Troopers progress. They’re a much tighter unit for the extra training, and are grateful for the extended leave they’re promised once this mission succeeds. Of course he impresses on them that it _will_ succeed; he will accept nothing less. Though he knows if it doesn’t he’ll chew them out for show, tearing them a new one in front of his fellow officials, before marching them back to their sector and cracking open drinks for them and assuring the squadron they did their best. And after every long, drawn out brief, every extra training round, every yell of encouragement and report returned to the command centre with a reassuring nod to Phasma, he knows he’ll return to the green room, hidden amongst a maze of corridors at the back of the ship, and he’ll continue to play Hangman and write back and forth with the stranger in the rec room.

A5-D0, meanwhile, is happy. Well, as happy as a droid who emulates emotions and processes feelings as binary possibly can be. He gets to bake and cook twice as much. He can play a wider variety of music now there are two officers who frequent his allotted room. It had remained quiet for so long; forgotten amongst the flurry of activity on board the cruiser, and so out of the way that after the first few weeks everyone realised they were too busy to seek out a quieter space, and the novelty seemed to have worn off among the Finalizer’s residents. Hux had stumbled upon it quite by accident, and his easy-going chatter had helped forge something of a friendship between him and the droid he’d affectionately nicknamed; he treated it like another person, comfortably spending silent afternoons in the room and clearly appreciating its sharp wit. The droid had summarised its personality chip was slightly unusual but very useful in alleviating the mood of its human counterparts. Kylo Ren, on the other hand, was a different matter entirely. A5-D0 had observed the man was wary, careful of his movements. Fastidious. Stress levels seemed high, judging from the way he ran his hands through his hair constantly, and jiggled his legs with nervous energy even while at rest.

So A5-D0 bakes. And cooks. And plays music. And cleans. The droid carries out what it’s meant to within its programming, and if it observes the two men who pass like ships in the night through his station, then it keeps that to itself. One day, around three weeks after it had left the notebook upon the table (quite by accident of course, it must be time for a tune up…clearly.), Kylo brings a shiny new notebook to the rec room with him. After he finishes his routine of eating lunch (a delicious bundt cake coloured with sour-root, it’s A5-D0’s best work so far really) and completing his writing in the new book, he leaves with a smile on his face before slipping his mask back on. The droid makes quick work of cleaning up after Ren, and pauses when it turns to the notebook. The Hangman’s noose has been left forgotten on the glass table top, the men favouring writing to each other instead.

The original page is now crumpled and softened after being turned over and rustled and scribbled on over the weeks. A5-D0 lays it out neatly; of course it must inspect it. Part of its duties is ensuring there are no hints of mutiny or espionage aboard ship. It is simply doing its job, it rationalises to itself; it’s not being nosy when its programming does not exactly take into account human traits. Its personality chip may be another matter. The droid starts to read: it would be irresponsible not to.

 

**I’ll have you know I have an excellent education. Like I said, penmanship with flair. And the droid? He’d have guessed it in an instant. His name’s Addy by the way, he’s a good guy. Did you like the cobbler? I ate three slices. With cream. Ask for his roast dinner next time. How did you find this place anyway?**

 

_By accident. Had a bad day at work. I hate my job. But the droid made me some juice and cake and now I come here every so often to read. The Terran novels are pretty good. You named it? How strange – you don’t get out much, do you?_

 

**I don’t know how much I can really go out when we’re flying through space…! Though you’re right on one thing, I can’t say I have many friends. Maybe one. I’m surrounded by idiots. And of course I named him, I’m not a heathen! I haven’t read the Terran novels, though I confess I’m obsessed with the bodice rippers. Such drama. I live for it. What are the Terran novels about? What’s your job anyway?**

 

_S_ _orry, I don’t quite feel comfortable sharing that kind of thing – you could be anyone. What if I told you and woke up one day strapped to a Scout drone and kicked out into outer space? Not really my idea of fun. Fine, I’ll call it Addy. Its cakes are delicious. Sometimes I think it’s mocking me, it’s kind of unsettling. And ugh, really? They’re dreadful. The droid actually advised me against them. The Terran books are good – they’re right beside you, pick one up for yourself! Also really? You guessed ‘Z’? You’re just setting yourself up for failure. That poor Hangman._

 

**Fair enough, I understand. It’s quite nice to have a bit of anonymity on a ship where everyone knows each other. Is this where we play truth or dare, share our deepest darkest desires with a torch on in the dark, braid each other’s hair? And of course Addy’s mocking you. He mocks me too – he’s brilliant. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re a little paranoid – is someone worried everyone’s laughing at them? Judging by some people on board though, they never grew up past their ‘pulling pigtails in the playground’ phase. And yes I wrote ‘Z’, my writing isn’t that bad. What can I say, I like to walk on the wild side.**

 

_Oh god. Don’t talk to me about hair. I woke up today and it was a mess. Ruined my whole day. Thankfully Addy made me that roast you told me about – 10/10, would eat again. I’m so full though, I think I might die. This is it – this is how I go, rolled back to my quarters all bloated and leaking roast dinner along the corridor, by a sarcastic droid. Good bye cruel world, and thanks for all the stress.  
Yes, I’m sure you’re the epitome of bravery, Mr Stranger. Laughing in the face of danger while you doodle on a table._

 

**I’ll make sure your funeral is beautiful. We’ll send you off on a reinforced boat to take on your new body weight, and load it with glasses of juice and terrible war novels. The arrows will fly and when your boat catches light you’ll blow up from all the excess fat and rain down a terrible storm of brain matter and body parts over the peasants. Addy will sing your eulogy and I’ll tap-dance atop the Finalizer. They’ll sing songs of your legacy. And excuse me, Mr Stranger? That’s Captain Stranger to you. Can I at least know your name so I can make a decent codename? And I can’t say I have that problem with hair, my glorious locks are always perfectly groomed thank you very much. I’m sure your hair’s lovely though. Are you a woman? I mean, judging by the whole ‘my hair’s shitty so my day is ruined’ thing.**

 

_That sounds like the perfect send off. Remind me to write that in my will: delete my comms browser history, don’t touch my stuff, set fire to my bloated carcass and make sure the stranger I’ve been writing notes to in secret tap-dances for me. Also…codename? What are we, spies? Superheroes? Fine, Captain Bizarre, take it or leave it. You can call me Ben. So clearly I’m not a girl. Though I guess I could be anyone and you’d never know. Isn’t that weird? We could have seen each other before. We could pass each other in the halls or even speak and we’d have no idea. I’m going to be even more on edge now – wait and see, I’ll be wondering if everyone I speak to from now on is Captain Bizarre. Maybe I am paranoid. Look what you’ve done now, you’ve almost killed our Hangman._

 

**He can join you at the funeral. He’ll be tap-dancing alongside me in his death throes. Wow, this is getting a bit morbid isn’t it? Captain Bizarre…I’ll take it. Do I get a cape? I know one of the commanders on this ship wears a long cape and a mask. I’m secretly jealous, I wish I could wear one every day and stomp around looking all important like that. Don’t worry, a little bit of paranoia is normal – we’re all stuck on this ship, there’s lots going on. I don’t even want to think about that though, I’m sick of hearing about it. Wish this bloody war would end already. And maybe we have seen each other – maybe we’re friends, maybe we’re mortal enemies? I can’t imagine you’d have many enemies, you seem…nice. I suppose. It’s just a relief to have someone to talk to. About normal things. What’s your favourite colour? Mine is blue.  
Also, hello Ben. Nice to meet you.**

 

_Capes are awful. Masks are worse. Fucking ridiculous things. I know that commander and he’s a prick. I don’t have any patience with him or his colleagues. I kind of don’t have any patience at all. It’s been…a difficult time recently. My temper’s fraying. It’s weird that you’re saying it’s nice talking to me but I don’t know why. I’m not really a nice person. I’d like to be though; you seem so calm and collected and funny through these notes. I wish I could be like that in real life. Seeing as it’s sharing hour, what’s your faults then? A little more interesting than colours. My favourite is red, by the way._

 

**Sorry, did I touch a nerve there? I won’t mention him again. So you’ve got a bad temper, so what? Nothing wrong with that. Put a spin on it, call it ‘eagerness’. Passion. Maybe take a second next time you feel you’re about to flip your lid, count ten nice things in your head. My teacher at school taught me that one. Don’t sweat the little stuff Ben. It’s not worth it in the grand scheme of things. I won’t list my faults – I refuse to see them as such. They’re character traits. We’ve all got them, it’s what makes us...well, ‘us’. The people who matter don’t look past them, they see them as part of us and accept it. You aren’t your temper or any of your faults, Ben. They’re only a little bit of you. You’re funny and insightful. Accept that. Captain Bizarre says so.**

 

_Well if Captain Bizarre says so, then his word is law. I guess you’re right. I’m trying to work as well as I can under pressure, but like you I’m surrounded by idiots. Well…I’m not surrounded by anyone at the moment. But you get the picture. Thank you, C.B. I feel like if we knew each other in real life (not just on a bit of paper – I’m bringing a notebook in next time by the way) we’d get on. Maybe not. But I like this. What do you look like anyway?_

 

**Ahhh, I thought we were maintaining mystery Ben? I’m rather dashing, if you must know. Tall. Rippling muscles. Huge white teeth with a strong jaw and cheekbones that could slice through glass. Or cake – speaking of which, Addy’s made bundt cake. Maybe if he keeps this up I won’t have much cheekbone to speak of. No, I’m kind of scrawny. Pale. Big nose. No strong jawline, but I’m pretty sure I have a winning smile. You can see for yourself, if you’d like to meet.**

 

This is where the words end on the crumpled page, where Kylo had opened up the shiny notebook to the first page. A5-D0 had watched as he’d read the words over and over, his face paling then reddening again. The droid surmised his emotions as they flashed quickly across his normally stoic face: excitement, panic, more excitement, fear, and possibly nausea. Kylo had tapped his pen against his top lip before writing quickly, the pen scratching across the paper, as though if he were to write it down fast enough, he couldn’t take it back. The droid checks his reply, shifting the notebook towards him:

 

_Friday. 6pm, after dinner. I’ll bring the cape, you make sure the droid has the cake._

 

A5-D0 buzzes while it neatens the papers again. It finishes pushing Kylo’s abandoned chair in, rescues a rogue cushion from the side of the couch, and places his Terran novel back in the book case before settling back to its station in the corner. It plugs itself in and thinks, just before it turns to standby mode, how if it were able to express its thoughts clearly without risking being shut down in reprimand, how it’d rather like to bash its two visitors heads together, and threatened them with a cake ban for not realising things sooner.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idiots in space are idiots, everyone loves a terrible romance novel except Kylo, and Addy is SO FUN to write. Also fun fact: Addy is a bit of an in-joke between Wintress and I; it's our pet name for a certain someone. Recognise the droids initials? What other references can you spot, there's more than a few, scattered through here and everything else we write! Let us know in the comments and we'll let you know if you're right!
> 
> As usual, if you have any questions, comments or concerns, feel free to contact me!


	6. Chapter 6

Hope surges through his torso like hot liquid. It roils beneath his lungs, mixing with nerves and excitement. Ever since Hux read the reply from the stranger, he’s felt like something is brewing on the horizon. Something outside of troopers and plans and the banal life of the First Order. Something more than what he’s been for years. Something…new. It almost scares him, to have this secret that he only shares with one other person; he doesn’t even know who this stranger is.

 _Ben_ , he reminds himself as he readies to leave his quarters. His name is Ben. He’s whispered it to himself when he’s alone, tried to memorise what the words feel like as they leave his lips in a hush. It’s finally Friday, but he can’t race to the rec room like he wants to. He has to keep up pretences, maintain an air of indifference, as though this were any other day aboard the _Finalizer_. He’s taken care of everything ahead of time so he has no distractions: a specialised infantry have been dispatched earlier this week to Jakku, and are currently searching for the Resistance pilot. As many troopers as he can spare are on stand-by, waiting on a small cruiser just within Jakku’s airspace, ready to descend and assist if needed. Hux and Phasma have planned back ups for their back ups, and it’s now or never. It’s a waiting game, out of their hands. As soon as they have him, they’ll know.

Until then, Hux can allow himself to be distracted. He forces himself to close his door slowly and carefully, keeps his legs carrying him in a languid stroll as though he has nowhere special to be, when all he really wants to do is run to that quiet wing of the ship. He passes various people, nodding non-committally at some and pointedly ignoring others. He checks the time: 9:45. He still has hours to burn before he meets Ben, and he can feel each minute passing achingly slow.

Hux shoves his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat so he doesn’t fidget with them, and wanders to the cafeteria sector. He knows Addy will probably have something baking for him ( _them_ , he reminds himself with a little thrill. _for them_ ) but he browses the food available all the same. His personal comms device beeps suddenly in his pocket, a frantic high squeal that snaps his attention from a large slice of chocolate cake. He almost drops it when he drags it out of his pocket and taps the acceptance button, to see Phasma’s face on the screen.

“Hullo Phas,” He starts, but she swipes a hand animatedly in front of her, shutting him up.

“Hux – We’ve got him. We got the bastard outside a marketplace. He’s on his way.” Phasma breathes. Huxdoesn’t allow himself to move, to react, his back ramrod straight.

“You’re sure?” He demanded. “Absolutely sure? We cannot allow –”

“I’m fucking sure, alright? ETA five minutes. See if you can’t get a hold of Ren, I need to prepare the interrogation suite.” She clicks off abruptly, leaving Hux standing among a throng of people waiting to get to the dessert stand. He breathes out slowly, swiping a hand through his red hair, and moves to the entrance of a corridor for more privacy. He reluctantly brings up the options for Kylo’s comms, forces himself to breathe, and hits ‘dial’. His heart is thumping now, for entirely different reasons: this is it. Weeks of work and toil have lead up to this moment. This could be their way to demolishing the Rebellion once and for all: he feels the weight of that revelation, that possibility, like an anvil in his sternum. Kylo picks up after a few rings and remains out of view of the camera in his comms, rustling through something.

“What is it Hux? This had better be good, I’ve got a busy day ahead –”

“We have him.” Hux says firmly. There is silence from the other end. All he can see is Kylo’s impossibly neat quarters in the background.

“Repeat that.” Kylo’s deep voice crackles through the comms after the pause.

“Our troops picked up Poe outside a marketplace in Jakku. He’ll be here any moment. Phas needs you in the Interrogation Suite.” Hux glances around him to see if anyone is eavesdropping, but the crowd at the dessert stand across from him have dispersed to chomp through various sweet treats at tables. He looks back to the comms in time to see Kylo slide into view. He leans heavily on his control unit, eyeing the camera carefully. His expression is blank, but his dark brows are furrowed and betray his nerves. Hux notices how long his hair has gotten, how it brushes his collarbones, how a strand has escaped to feather across his forehead, and he swallows thickly to try to chase away the blush trying to rise in his cheeks.

“We’ve got him?” Kylo says slowly. His arms are bare, his black tactical vest is almost obscured in the gloom of his quarters, but the light of his comms make his dark eyes shine with barely concealed excitement. Hux nods, and a hint of a smile spreads across Kylo’s lips. Hux can’t help but return it.

“This is it, Ren. We’ve fucking done it.” Kylo shoots up straight and reaches for his robes.

“Are you coming?” He calls over his shoulder, the microphone barely picking it up.

“No. I won’t be needed. I’ll be on stand by for a few hours in Control, though.”

“I’ll see you later then.” Kylo holds his mask for a moment, coming back into view. He glances around before looking back up, almost bashful. “…A job well done, General Hux.”

“Thanks. I don’t know why you’re surprised, I’m fantastic at my job.” Hux rubs his knuckles smugly across his shoulder and Kylo barks a short laugh at him, shaking his head. Hux shoots him a grin while he watches the other man place on his mask, concealing his little smile. Kylo nods firmly, and clicks off his comms.

Fucking _finally_ , Hux thinks to himself. He braces himself against the corridor wall and breathes slowly. Collecting himself. He has a few hours to debrief the troops, then he can finally escape to the rec room. He allows himself a little smile: finally.

 

*

Kylo stares down the trooper who dares bring him the news. He’s unmoving, as though he’s made of marble. Every muscle in his body is tensed. He tastes metal on the back of his tongue. Silence rings heavy through the air and settles in his ears like water.

“What did you just fucking say?” Kylo’s voice is low, rumbling with barely contained anger. “Tell me you did not just admit to yet another failure.” His fists clench, and his arm twitches towards the lightsabre at his belt. This doesn’t escape the troopers notice, and he launches into a stammering plea.

“He – he escaped, took a TIE fighter – we –we’re trying to track it, we’ve sent out – please, I’m sorry – it was one of our own –“

Kylo’s head jerks around at that. “What?”

“One of our troopers went with him – I don’t know how it happened, I’m so –” The man’s words are cut off with a gargle as Kylo’s arm shoots out, Force flowing through him to constrict the trooper’s throat. He hauls him slowly into the air as the choked sounds escaping from the helmet become higher and more desperate. The trooper’s boots are brushing the ground and flailing wildly as he scrabbles at his neck. The room is quiet apart from these noises: the rest of the troopers and Phasma watch on warily.

They have failed. They’ve lost Poe. Everything had been riding on this – and it had slipped from their hands at the last second. Snoke would not tolerate this. The thought fills Kylo with a flood of self-loathing which boils into fury, and he throws the trooper so hard into a wall it dents before he crumples to a heap on the ground. Kylo grabs his sabre, flicks his wrist to send the unstable red beam shooting from it, and grasps it tightly in both hands. He’s breathing heavier and heavier as the reality of the situation settles in: no one dares move.

He has failed Snoke. He has failed the Order. He has failed himself. He’s yet another embarrassment, another black mark against his grandfathers name that gives the Rebels yet another victory to lord over him –

Something inside him snaps. His temper breaks. He roars, whirls around and smashes the control unit beside him, the sabre cutting through it like a hot knife in butter. He channels his frustration of the last few weeks – months – years – through his destruction of the room. He’s too blinded by rage to see troopers running frantically from the scene, to see Phasma give him one last pitying glance as she strides out.

Every strike punctuates a thought. He spent all morning trying to force information out of that fucking pilot – _smash_. He endured his stupid quips and jabs for fuck all – _slice_. The troopers lost the droid, and now the pilot is gone they have nothing to go on and they’re back to square fucking one - _bang. Shatter. Boom_. Kylo systematically destroys the control unit, and by the time he has worked it out of his system, he is surrounded by smoking rubble. His breath is coming in heaving half-sobs. Sensation returns slowly to his body, like awareness is blooming through his consciousness again. It makes the sting of failure all the sharper, and he contains the wail he wants to bellow. Everything else is forgotten.

 

*

The main control room slowly empties as the day passes. After necessary arrangements are made, debriefs are finished, and a new squad prepped and sent out, anyone who isn’t essential to monitoring the troops slips out as quickly and quietly as they can. The air is thick, morose, heavy. Hux is slumped in a large seat at the back of the centre, his head leaning heavily on his hand as he watches officers monitor and communicate with the squad on the ground. The idea that one of his own troopers has done this sits sickeningly in his stomach; he’s so proud of his fleet, he’d been so insistent on not using clones. And yet, despite years of hard work and training, he’s been outrun by human nature. The worst part, he thinks, is he can’t even fault the trooper for doing so. He’d stood up for what he believed in, the same reason Hux diligently trains his troopers the way he does. Because he believes in it. He has to admire that kind of conviction, even if it leaves him in the firing line.

And to top it off? Ben never showed. After debriefing the returning squad and sending them off for lunch, Hux had shifted around the room for a whole hour and a half, feigning casual indifference as he carefully placed himself in a sprawl across the sofa. Leaning against the kitchen counter. Eventually sitting at the glass table, drumming his fingers nervously on the table top as he watched the door like a hawk. He’s sure he’d have stayed even longer if Phasma hadn’t called, uncharacteristically frantic, he’d have waited there all day. But it still hurt: Ben hadn’t showed up.

And now he has this mess to deal with. It’s late, yet Hux can’t bring himself to let his eyes slip close. His gaze darts from screen to screen, spec to spec, officer to officer. Over and over. The huge sliding door whirs open, and he can hear the familiar soft billow of a cloak. Well, Hux thinks to himself, if I feel bad then Ren must be feeling like shit.

Kylo pauses and stands for a moment behind Hux’s chair. He says nothing, and Hux steels himself for another argument: he’s too exhausted to put any real venom into his words. He opens his mouth to tell Kylo to fuck off before he’s interrupted.

“Mind if I join you?” Kylo says, his voice low, contained. Hux glances up in surprise, but Kylo’s mask gives nothing away.

“Sure. Misery loves company,” Hux sighs, gesturing to another high-backed chair near him. Kylo drags it along to rest against the wall beside Hux, and drops carefully into it. He clasps his hands in his lap, leaning forward as though he’s scrutinising the screens. There’s a not-quite comfortable silence between them; the only sounds are the murmuring of the officers up ahead and a soft beeping from the controls. Long minutes pass before Hux decides to speak up.

“Am I going to be…dismissed?” He asked quietly. Kylo cocked his head.

“I thought about it. But I decided against it.” Hux stared at him, incredulous.

“You’re not going to kill me? I failed, Kylo.” Hux slumps further in his seat, looking ahead flatly; it sounds worse out loud. “I failed.”

“We both did.” Kylo said quietly. He slipped off his mask and scraped his hands through his hair, dropping his cowl. “Your troopers were impeccably trained. We have no way of knowing if FN-2187 was compromised on Jakku. Or if he was just…defective. There’s no one else I’d have take your place; Phasma is right. We need to work together.” Kylo’s face is pale, faintly lit by the backlight of the screens ahead. His eyes look tired, sad. Defeated.

Hux softens at this rare display of emotion, but he won’t let his mask slip as easily as Kylo’s. “So, just a slap on the wrist for a rogue trooper? If I knew what I could get away with, I’d have gotten lazy years ago.” A ghost of his usual smirk spreads across his face, and Kylo turns to him with a resigned expression and a raised eyebrow.

“Really? I let you off the hook and you joke about it?” He says flatly, and Hux jerks his chin up defiantly.

“Don’t mock my humor, Ren – I’m not the one being uncharacteristically merciful.” Hux winces internally – he doesn’t mean to go on the defensive. But he can’t deny this change of character is unusual. The news of the destroyed side room had spread, and he didn’t want to incite Kylo’s fury upon him…but something tells him the man is spent. Drained. Kylo sighs and looks away.

“I’m trying here. I want to be a better person.” He says uncomfortably. Hux realises finally that Kylo doesn’t want to be this way, and his heart tugs a little in sympathy.

“Well, that’s all we can hope to do.” Murmurs Hux.

“Someone once told me our faults don’t define us. I’m trying to aspire to that, I guess. I just don’t want to be ruled by my temper. I don’t want to rule with it either.” Kylo smiles a little before dismissing it with a wave of his hand. “We can build on this. We can improve. This is just a setback. We can do this.”

Hux nods warmly and settles into his seat; the new sense of camaraderie feels alien to him, but he agrees. If they can work together the way they should have all along, it’ll be easier. Hell, it might even be fun. He wants to move forward. To finish what they started. He goes back to scanning the screens before replying quietly, “We can do this.”

 

*

The shiny notebook dulls and the papers inside crinkle from use, as time passes and notes are exchanged in the rec room. The weeks go by with nothing new except the comfortable routine of writing to each other. Addy bakes. Kylo relaxes. Hux finishes his novel and starts a new one (“ _What do you mean, Carlotta was a droid all this time?!_ ”). After the Rebel pilot escapes, the droid is lost, and plans are drawn to trace it. They almost have it, along with the rogue trooper and the Jakku scavenger. Kylo and Hux have learned to work together in a not-quite-comfortable alliance that confuses Phasma, but she doesn’t question it; she’s just grateful for the break in screaming matches. Things run almost smoothly. And the little game of Hangman still lies forgotten, scrawled upon the glass table top beside their shared notebook. Kylo’s neat, slanting calligraphy contrasts starkly against Hux’s bold, bizarre lettering as they continue to write.

 

_I’m so sorry I didn’t show – with everything that happened, we all got caught up – I’m sorry. I was really looking forward to meeting you. Please don’t hate me. I asked Addy to make you that roast you like as an apology._

**Don’t worry about it. Seriously. It’s been a shitty time for everyone. I was slightly peeved (by which I mean you broke my heart, tore it in two, stomped on it, spat on it, ground it into the floor – feel guilty yet?) No, I’m kidding. It’s okay. I understand. Things feel…better, almost? Since the pilot escaped – don’t you agree? It doesn’t feel as tense on board. Everyone seems…lighter. It’s strange, I’m getting on with my colleagues a lot better. Are you doing okay? I hope you’re not flagellating yourself over all of this. It couldn’t be helped.**

_Speaking of which…I took your advice. Kind of. I’m trying not to be a dick and trying to…I don’t know, embrace who I am. Grow as a person and all that shit. CB, do you ever do things that you instantly regret? Like you know they’re terrible and going to hurt people but you can’t help it? I hate that I can’t take them back. I hate being this way._

**Alright Ben, leave the pity party and come to the light. We all do shitty things. We all say things we don’t mean. Heat of the moment and all that. I for one have a motor mouth and for some reason the part of my brain that tells me ‘That’s inappropriate you idiot’ only kicks in after I’ve spouted an inordinate amount of shite. I’m quite hilarious, you know. But it gets me into trouble. And that’s just who I am. And being a grumpy morose pussy cat is who you are. Accept it, own it, and hold your head up high. Now, onto a nicer subject – has anyone ever seen Captain Phasma eat? I’ve seen her in the cafeteria yet she never removes her helmet. I wonder what she looks like. I wonder what you look like, Ben.**

_Thanks. Really, thanks. The pity party has been abandoned, instead I’m having an ice cream and jelly party with Addy. It has fruit pieces. He’s left you some. I am NOT a pussy cat, but I’ll take it. I know you’re funny, you don’t need to rub it in. And no, I haven’t actually – I bet she’s a red head under that helmet. Every red head I know is fiery and I wouldn’t mess with Phasma if you paid me. I like to think I can get scary, but she’d have my balls on toast for breakfast. I’ve wondered what you look like too, your description wasn’t much to go on. I wonder about you; if we know each other. If we’d get on in real life – I know this is real life but you know what I mean. This room doesn’t even feel like part of the ship. It’s like a little island to escape to. With cake._

**Please, I could handle Phasma with my eyes closed. Maybe. I don’t think I’d like to put that to the test though! I agree. This room is like a little bit of sanctuary. A paradise. I’m glad I get to share it with you, even if we never meet. I’m glad I kind of met you.**

_I’m glad I kind of met you too._

 

*****

 

Kylo drums his fingers on the large table, looking around the large meeting room as it slowly fills with people. Phasma is sat beside him, shuffling through various papers and checking them against her personal comms device. He’d had a heads up; Leader Snoke had called for him specially early that morning, just like he’d dreaded. Snoke’s voice had been low, contained, and he’d advised that this was the last straw. He’d told Kylo of his countermeasures and had sent Kylo on his way to Phasma, proverbial tail between his legs. Now they sit, waiting for everyone to arrive to update them on Snoke’s orders.

The door whooshes open and Hux walks in, all of his usual joviality drained from his pale face. Kylo had noticed him becoming more withdrawn in recent days, and he feels a little sympathy: Hux had been called into speak to Snoke after the rebel pilot had escaped with the rogue trooper, and he’d emerged half an hour later practically grey with tight, shining eyes. As General, Hux had been hit with the brunt of the blame, and from what Kylo could see it was really taking its toll.

Hux drops heavily into his usual seat at Kylo’s left, slumping down, blue eyes seeing nothing in particular. Phasma catches Kylo’s eye and nods her helmet meaningfully at the defeated red-haired figure beside him. Kylo cocks his head and shrugs. _What?_  She tilts her head back and he can almost see her eyes rolling behind her visor. She kicks him sharply under the table before standing up tall, and striding to the front of the room. ... _Oh. Oh._

Kylo clears his throat awkwardly before turning to Hux, who glances up at the noise.

“You alright?” Kylo mumbles quietly, and Hux quirks a small smile to his lips.

“I’m fine. It’s been a rough few weeks.” He says flatly. Hux pulls himself up straight then leans in conspiratorially. “What’s this all about, do you know?”

“Yeah,” Kylo drops his voice to a whisper, pausing when Oditch bumbles past them to flop to the front of the table. “Snoke’s furious. With everyone. We’re signing a waiver.”

“What, like a contract?” Hux’s eyes widen infinitesimally, and it drops a little smatter of empathy into Kylo’s gut; poor guy, he’s really taking all of this to heart. He really feels like he’s to blame.

“No, no – it’s like a disclaimer. We’re all supposed to sign it. It means if one fails we all suffer. It’s meant to scare us into being ‘more efficient’ – his words, not mine.” Kylo grunts. Hux’s brow flickers into a small frown.

“He can’t do that,” He whispers. “That’s – that’s not right.”

“It’s not, but he’s doing it anyway. He’s getting desperate.” Kylo agrees with a sigh. “So if you ask me, we should keep up this happy families thing everyone’s got going on. At least give him the idea we’re working together, even if we’ve no chance of getting that droid back.”

“Oh, easily done.” Hux grins, and Kylo can’t help but smile back from behind his helmet. Hux nudges his arm with a pointed elbow and raises an eyebrow. “If we’re playing families though, Phas is definitely the hormonal big sister.” Kylo snorts with laughter, turning it into a cough when Captain Phasma whips round to glare at them through her expressionless helmet. Kylo tilts his head towards Hux and catches his eye.

“Uh oh, she’s gonna tell on us to Father.” He whispers, and Hux clutches his hands to his mouth, desperately trying to hide his laughter.

“When you two are quite finished, we’ve got an important announcement to make.” Phasma snaps from the front of the room, and they straighten up; though Kylo notes, Hux’s cheeks are rosy from laughing, ruining the illusion of behaving themselves.

“As you’re all aware, it’s been….a difficult time.” Phasma begins stiltedly, before sighing and dropping her shoulders. “Alright,it’s been a fucking awful few weeks. We’ve got some downtime ahead while we wait on further intelligence from our squad on the ground…but in the meantime, our Supreme Leader Snoke has been in touch.” She almost spits out his name, Kylo notices with curiosity; maybe he’s not the only one disillusioned with their leader.

Phasma shuffles her papers again, splitting the pile in half and handing one each to the two officers at her end of the table. “These are waivers drafted by Leader Snoke himself. They state that we will all up our efforts, and if there is another failure, the whole sector is punished, not just the person who’s fault it is. We are all held accountable. Now, just like in school, pass these down, read them thoroughly and sign them if you agree.”

“Not that we’ve got much choice in the matter,” Kylo mutters darkly to Hux, who smirks back, a little more of his usual mischief glittering in his eyes.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Can’t we fake a name?” He whispers back, barely audible over the rustling of paper and scribbling of pens. The noise reminds Kylo of his rec room, and he almost lets himself start to daydream of fruit pies and hangman games and stolen notes before he remembers his place. He shakes his head and looks pointedly at Hux.

“Well, you wouldn’t have to try too hard at that. Yours already sounds fake,” He says innocently, and Hux chokes holding in a chuckle.

“You dickhead –” Hux starts, but Phasma cuts him off.

“Gentlemen, please. The quicker we get this done the quicker we can go to lunch.” She says sharply. Kylo watches Hux out the corner of his eye as the pile of papers slowly makes its way down the long table, passed from officer to officer; he’d be the last to sign. Hux seems slightly more relaxed, that tightness around his eyes earlier easing as the corners crinkle with a cheeky smile he shoots at Kylo.

The papers reach Hux first, and he doesn’t bother to read through the papers before he prints his name clearly before signing with a flourish and dropping the pen to the table with a clatter. Kylo is about to quip about him being a clumsy bastard, when Hux pushes the waiver toward him and the words die in his throat. There at the bottom, next to a spiky signature, is Hux’s full name, scrawled in heavy, bold capitals. But it’s not the name that makes Kylo’s mouth turn dry: it’s the letters. Specifically, the letter ‘E’ at the end of ‘Armitage’. It looks like a backwards ‘3’. It looks like his stranger’s, who he’s been sharing letters with back and forth for weeks, sharing his innermost worries and woes. Who has been sharing the rec room with.

Kylo reads his name over and over, his heart kicking up a sharp rhythm, feeling as though a bucket of ice has just plummeted and smashed into his stomach, freezing him from the inside out.

“You remember how to write your name, don’t you?” Hux drawls, and Kylo has to stop himself from flinching. He feels a fleeting sense of gratitude that no one can see his face beneath his mask, because he’s sure right now it would be a picture. He blinks a bead of sweat from his eye, and once his vision clears the name appears again, stark on the paper. Mocking him.

It’s fucking Hux. He’s been writing to Hux this whole time.

“Ren…?” Hux asks uncertainly. Kylo’s gaze darts up from the papers, taking in Phasma staring at him oddly, a few expectant looks from officials clearly bored and waiting to go for lunch, Hux’s cocked eyebrow and curious expression.

It’s fucking _Hux_.

“I…uh…pen.” Kylo manages, snatching it from the table before practically covering up his name as he scribbles it down and bunches the papers together, before Hux can see it and rumble him. His palms are sweating inside his heavy gloves and he stands, striding to the front and handing the waivers to Phasma. She keeps her gaze on him suspiciously before turning to the rest of the room.

“Okay. All done. You’re dismissed.” Kylo doesn’t even acknowledge the words before he paces quickly from the room, almost battering into the door when it doesn’t slide open quickly enough. He sweeps his way rapidly down the corridors to his quarters, only stopping when he’s inside and the door is slid shut safely behind him. He tears his mask off, dropping it to the floor before unclipping his cloak and pulling his gloves from his sticky, hot hands. He rubs his face before raking his dark hair back, mouth agape as he tries to process it all: he can’t. His thoughts are racing with his heartbeat, and he drops to his bed and stares at his feet. Taking a deep breath, Kylo lets it out shakily before speaking aloud to himself. Maybe it will make him feel less unsettled, maybe it will dampen the shock.

“I like Hux.” He said quietly, but it feels like the words rattle around the room, bouncing off the walls to boomerang back at him and hit him harder and harder.

_Fucking Hux._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's working title was The Good, The Bad, and The Snarky xD 
> 
> Sorry for the delay, I can only hope it was worth it!! As usual, if you have any questions, comments or concerns, feel free to contact me!

**Author's Note:**

> Ooooh, what could possibly go wrong? 
> 
> As usual, if you have questions, comments or concerns, feel free to drop me a comment!


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